


Moon Sugar

by skyholdherbalist



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Eating, F/F, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Girls Kissing, Hand & Finger Kink, Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyholdherbalist/pseuds/skyholdherbalist
Summary: Fearnhe, a Dunmer Dragonborn, and Jenassa, her hired sword, make a fine pair.  Sisters-at-arms, then friends, and perhaps more...When they overtake a band of skooma pushers, they find a glittering treasure, and the heat between them grows beyond control.





	1. Chapter 1

It was not when Fearnhe first met Jenassa that she knew she needed her. 

Not when she hired her, seeking less a sharp sword and moreso friendship from another Dunmer woman like herself—though she found both.Not when Jenassa saved her life for the first, or the fifth, or the seventeenth time.Not when they laughed together in shocked relief after a battle to find themselves still breathing.Nor when she watched the mercenary sharpen her knife with skill, joy, and a smirk, lip between sharp teeth, and Fearnhe found herself flushed and flustered.

Not when they shared thoughts and dreams and a chaste bed at a dusty inn, whispering until dawn broke through the windows. 

Not when Fearnhe decided to leave Jenassa in Whiterun, but found it difficult to turn away.

It was when she stared back at Fearnhe, those wine-red eyes searching her own, and spoke, that her heart thundered dangerously.

“It is a lonely thing,” Jenassa said, her voice low and dispirited,“facing all the dangers of Skyrim alone.”Her smile was false.“Come and find me if you decide that you miss my companionship.” 

After months of bitter cold and danger, sometimes with a hired sword or trusted friend, but more often alone—alone with her own thoughts, worst of all—she decided just that.And back in Whiterun, Jenassa was there at her rickety table at the Drunken Huntsman, with an ale and a true smile, ready to join Fearnhe once more. 

That was how she found herself riding with Jenassa through a dry autumn forest, orange leaves spinning on the wind, both atop her large black mare at a slow trot.Jenassa sat behind, one arm curled around Fearnhe’s waist. 

Since their reunion, touch had been freer between them: playful swats, a brush of the cheek to place a wild hair, a hand upon an arm for no reason at all.Every touch had Fearnhe squirming, overthinking, imagining.

But this day, when Jenassa’s fingers drummed softly upon her belly, pulled her back tight and close, and rocked herself gently against Fearnhe’s backside with a quiet hum, breathing against the nape of her neck, Fearnhe knew she wasn’t imagining anything.

Nervous suddenly—excited, but nervous—she stopped herself from shivering further into the embrace.Jenassa leaned forward and spoke into her ear.“Hungry?”

Fearnhe turned, as much as she could, to look back at her companion with a smile.“Why do you ask?”

Jenassa laughed, low, and the sound rumbled warm against her back.“I felt your stomach growl.” 

“Ah.”She gathered up the horse’s reins and guided the mare around a bend.“Won’t lie, I am.But I’d rather not stop for a while.Not ’til we get closer to Rorikstead.” 

Today had been a lengthy ride, but it felt as though it dragged on even longer, aroused as she was by Jenassa’s callused fingers on her skin, the strong body flush against her own.She was eager to get to the village, to see if they would share a bed this evening, if the bed would be less chaste than before…

But Jenassa abruptly let go of her waist, and leaned back to dig into the leather pack bouncing against the horse’s flank.“Knew I had an apple in here,” she said, straightening herself with a quiet grunt.“Now… where’s your knife?”Fearnhe felt a warm hand settle up on her hip, then drift and drag down her thigh, fingers searching beneath the fur of her studded armor, pressing into her flesh. 

She bit back a grunt of her own.“You know I don’t wear my dagger there.”Her voice trembled a little. 

Jenassa’s hand left her leg, and she could breathe again.“You should.Better to keep it close at hand,” her companion chided her.She heard Jenassa unsheath the knife at her own hip, a pretty little dagger she’d often admired with a hilt wrapped thickly in ridged, fawn leather, and heard the blade sink into the sweet flesh of the apple.

“Here.”A squared chunk of apple appeared before her, between Jenassa’s slender, grey fingers. 

Fearnhe’s head leaned forward, mouth parting, ready to take what was offered, but she paused.“You could just hand it to me,” she said softly.Why did she keep pushing back?It was a delicate thing, she supposed.She was, after all, paying Jenassa to accompany her—and not a small price.Employer and employee, as it were. She was grateful Jenassa could not see the frustration, and the deep flush, that surely marked her. 

“You’re busy,” Jenassa purred against her neck.“Let me.” 

And Fearnhe was powerless against that voice.She bent to take the apple between her teeth, closed her lips around it as she took it into her mouth, and in doing so kissed the tips of Jenassa’s fingers.When she realized, she fought the urge to back away, and an equal urge to kiss them further. 

Jenassa’s hand lingered there against Fearnhe’s mouth while she chewed, softly brushing her lips, then disappeared only for a moment to retrieve another piece of apple.This one she ate with less hesitation, the next she was eager, and the next, one piece after another, until she bit each chunk hungrily, licked the sweet juice from her lips and Jenassa’s fingertips, which eased into her mouth, and brushed against the edge of her teeth, the tip of her tongue. 

And she felt Jenassa’s other hand around her waist grip her tighter, felt Jenassa’s hips roll against her, felt her breathe harder and faster.Fearnhe barely watched where she was leading her horse, her eyes fluttering shut. 

“That’ll be close enough.”Her eyes flew open, fear shivering away all her arousal.A man’s voice, his warning cold, reached them through the brush.Jenassa stiffened behind her.

Fearnhe brought her mare to a halt.They were on a clear road edged with fading birches, a fork ahead and a cabin up a low bank to the right.She searched for the voice, peering into the dying bushes that bordered the cabin, and found two men at guard.Bandits, she guessed, by their shabby assemblage of mismatched armor. 

“No trouble,” she called.She wasn’t scared of trouble, but Fearnhe didn’t go looking for fights.As often as they found her, it seemed unnecessary.Jenassa, on the other hand, itched to spill blood.It was a game to her—an art, she said, that she wanted to perfect.She sought a patron for her art, she had told Fearnhe.Fearnhe knew Jenassa was already reaching for a weapon, and hoped she didn’t make it too obvious. 

At least, not before she could ready it.

One of the men took a few unsteady steps toward them on the loose gravel, hand limp on the hilt of his sheathed sword.“Move along, greyskins.Nothing for you here,” he mumbled.His eyes were bloodshot, his skin waxy and yellow.

Fearnhe heard Jenassa chuckle and whisper, “Greyskin, is it?” almost to herself.She also heard the steely scrape of an arrow carefully lifted from its quiver. 

The man staggered before any of them realized he was shot, least of all him.He clutched at his stomach, well below the arrow lodged between his ribs, and fell.The shabby armor had done him no good.

“What the f—”

Jenassa’s arrow sank deep into the other guard’s throat before he could finish his question.All Fearnhe could do was watch, in awe of Jenassa’s prowess.

Then Jenassa dismounted swiftly, and hurried to where the bodies now lay. 

Fearnhe tied her mare to a thin birch and found Jenassa crouched near one of her kills, monitoring the house.“We could just go, you know,” she whispered, bending to the ground.“We could have already _been_ gone.” 

Jenassa gave her a hard, weary look, as if to say _You know why._ And she did.The problem was, killing everyone who called you a greyskin would not only get you into trouble with the Hold Guards, it could become a full-time occupation.But it was satisfying to take these s’wits down when you had the chance. 

“Aren’t you curious about what’s in there?”Jenassa nodded toward the cabin while she searched the body for coin, or a key. 

Fearnhe picked at the dead man’s armor.His stink wafted toward her, stale and sour, but there was a sweetness she recognized, something sugary in his sweat.“A lot of Nords on skooma, by the smell of this one,” she said. 

“That’s right.Money, too, if they had need for guards.”Janessa was already crawling slowly toward the door.“Watch, it’ll only take a minute,” she whispered with a smirk. 

Fearnhe sighed.She wouldn’t just sit and watch.She would follow, and fight, and gather up the coin, and they would ride off, bloodied and richer, together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy a new adventure with my beautiful Dunmer girl Fearnhe, previously seen fucking Vilkas in [this story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350424/chapters/28090914). She'll be getting back to that eventually. But Jenassa isn't the detour for her—she's the real thing. <3


	2. Chapter 2

Jenassa was right.There had been money, plenty of it, and enough skooma to knock down an army.The bandits inside had been more dazed than the guards, ragged and stupefied.They attacked wildly, swinging their weapons with weak, unskilled arms.It was, perhaps, not a fair fight. 

They were making the skooma there.Behind the cabin nightshades spread wild and rampant.Below a trap door hid a rusted still that reeked of syrupy, boiled moon sugar. 

Moon sugar.There had been plenty of that, too, and it was everywhere.Buckets, unlatched boxes, loose piles on tables—the cabin glittered with tiny, pearl white crystals. 

Fearnhe had dipped a finger into a shallow dish of it, and her fingertip came away shimmering.The creamy, milksweet scent of it was intoxicating on its own.“It’s been ages since I tasted this,” she had said, watching sunlight dance upon her sugar-coated finger.

Jenassa, who had been prying a rusted lock from a safe, smiled.“Same for me.I wonder if I would even like it now.” 

In years past, her barmaid days in Cyrodil, Fearnhe liked it very much.Late nights and long hours made tolerable—fun, even—with sugar.Cold, lonely nights made warmer, when you shared it with a companion. 

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” she said. 

They had thrown the skooma into a crevice near a shallow cave, where the little bottles cracked open and spilled against the rocks.No point letting anyone else pick it up.The sugar, they left—mostly.Fearnhe had filled a few small jars, tamped down the silvery sugar to pack them full, licked the excess from her fingers.She had kept one out for their ride, tasting along the way, letting Jenassa taste, too.

She curved her finger into a jar and drew it out slowly, caked with thick, white dust.When she moved her hand behind her, she could feel Jenassa take her forearm and draw it toward her mouth.Then her finger was hot, and wet, circled and surrounded and sucked by an eager mouth.Fearnhe could not dip into the jar fast enough, and offer her hand again and again.

And on they rode like that, until Fearnhe’s finger was wrinkled and sore, until the heat between them was near boiling, until they arrived in Rorikstead and stabled the horse.For a moment, she thought to kill all this tension with one blow: take Jenassa into the stable, strip her down and open her legs against the wall—

Then she thought better of it.They could wait for night, and food, and a bed.And the waiting would be all the sweeter.Her heart beat hard not only for Jenassa’s clever mouth and strong body, but her eyes, her mind, her soul.She wanted all of it. 

In a crowded tavern set aglow with a pit fire and talk and mead and song, her tongue still tingling, the sugar settled and spread inside Fearnhe.She relaxed.Her body eased into the night like a bath of thick cream, like ashen mud hot under the sun.She smiled at everyone. 

The salmon and leeks on her plate were marvelous.The mead was somehow sweeter, somehow richer.The fireglow reflected and glowed upon skin, and made everyone vibrant, loved, beautiful.

Especially Jenassa.She was telling a story, one of their recent adventures, to a small circle of people.One white-bearded, red-faced Nord sat beside her and howled after every sentence, his pink cheeks shining.Fearnhe watched her hands paint the words, and the man’s eyes followed them like a cat. 

Jenassa was exaggerating.It was something she only did when she was in her cups.Sober, she was stone, unmoving, the hard face of truth.Under more ripe circumstances, she could spin a tale worthy of the bards’ college.And the sugar, it seemed, made her tales wilder.Just then, she was suggesting—with visual aid—that one of her arrows had pierced a hagraven’s tit. 

Fearnhe leaned across the table toward them, over the foaming ales and roasted hens.“Don’t believe that,” she called out over the din of song and raucous talk, placing a hand on the Nord’s hot, hairy arm.“She lies, you know.”And she smirked at Jenassa, whose pursed lips and narrowed eyes did nothing to hide her amusement. 

The man looked confused.“What’s that, love?”He cupped his ear.“Can’t hear ya, pretty thing,” he said with a lopsided grin. 

When she walked around the table, she sat herself between them on the table bench, draped an arm around Jenassa, and squeezed the hard muscle of her shoulder.“I was there,” she said, looking at the man, “and that never happened.” 

Jenassa and the man shared a laugh.“Now, love, don’t go ruining a good story with the truth,” he said, and placed his hot hand on Fearnhe’s thigh, too high, and too far in, to be merely friendly. 

Before she could react, Jenassa stopped laughing, and leaned over.She plucked one of the man’s fingers up, and pulled back, and back.He watched, bemused, and then panicked, as she didn’t stop pulling.“By the Nine!”He jerked his hand away and shook off the pain.“You could have just said she was yours, lass.No need for anger.”

 _Yours._ Fearnhe and Jenassa stared at each other, silent, and the man laughed again, his belly shaking.“What, it was a secret?” he asked. 

No.It wasn’t.Anyone could see it.Jenassa’s eyes glittered ruby against the firelight, wide and waiting.And Fearnhe’s heart thundered, as it had so long ago.This time it would not take her months to say so.

“It’s just that you’ve got it backward, sir,” Fearnhe said, but she looked at Jenassa, and pulled her closer.“I am not hers.She’s mine.”She kissed Jenassa then.She pressed herself against the hard leather armor, and felt Jenassa’s lips, sweet with mead, yield, then demand, then yield again. 

“Well, great,” she could hear the man mumble, somewhere in the meaningless distance.“Congratulations to one of you, anyway.” 

In that same distance the tavern continued its revelry, bard song and laughter, but the sounds faded.Her pulse beat like a drum in her throat.Her tongue, she had thought near numb from the sugar, thrummed and shivered against Jenassa’s open mouth, curving into her, tasting her. 

She felt Jenassa’s hands upon her waist, grasping weakly at her skin, and heard a soft grunt when she brought her hand to Janessa’s face, cupped and tilted that face toward her own.She sighed and breathed in Jenassa’s breath.Fearnhe’s body opened, everything tight and nervous melted, pooled into flame and honey.

A blunt elbow rammed into Fearnhe’s side.It broke the kiss.The firelight was hazy, a red halo around Jenassa’s dark hair, and her eyes a bolder, sweeter red, like wine, and her swollen lips curved into a gentle smile. 

Jenassa stood, and held a hand out to her.She took it, and in a blur of soft steps and stroking hands, they found their room, and locked the door behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, what could possibly happen next? ;)


End file.
